A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (27 page)

He did it merely because he could.

Fear and respect went hand in hand, and he held no qualms in maintaining that status quo. He was rewarded with a slight gasp as the sword bit into her flesh, but the action forced him to look into her eyes, and the endle
ss green orbs assailed his conscious far more acutely than the nick on her throat. He quickly withdrew the sword, swirling around to hide his momentary lack of self control as he sheathed it once more. "Take them and do as I said, Gragis!" he growled, shaking his hand irritably at the oggron.

"Wait!" Alicia pleaded, and her voice was so very quiet in the still air of the tent. "Please, hear me out."

Gregory was flabbergasted, even the unmovable Gragis seemed to be confused at this turn of events. This woman, this
wizard,
was just so daring! Did she not recollect the sharp blade that had been against her throat only moments before and the warning that had come with it? The sheer bravery, or maybe it was stupidity, convinced Gregory that perhaps she did have something that would be of interest to him. He was a bandit after all, and as everyone knew, people of his ilk were driven by profit. Or at least he was supposed to be.

Unable to hold onto his anger, he gave great sigh of resignation as he turned around, f
acing his three unwilling prisoners with hands open in a gesture of helplessness. "Alright, wizard," he said, plopping himself back down on his pillow. "Spit it out. What is it, Goddess willing, that you could possibly have that would be of interest to me?”

"I will tell you. Alone."

It started as a throaty chuckle, before erupting into a full blown laughter that rolled out and filled the air with its sound, continuing for some time until Gregory was in stitches. The fact that this wizard, this prisoner, still continued to make demands despite everything. . . it was just too much for one person to handle.

He figured he could allow it, just this once. When he finally managed to suppress his mirth, he waved for Gragis to leave, which the oggron, no doubt very
confused with the whole situation, was quick to comply, dragging the other two prisoners along with him. The look on the stalwart oggron's face was almost enough to send Gregory back into fits of laughter.

"Alright,”
he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Now that I have fulfilled your wishes, what is this secret of yours?"

"May I humbly request for you to first remove the rope binding my hands and fingers?"

Gregory instantly sobered. Narrowing his eyes at her, he warned, "Remove your bindings? How do I know you won't strike me down with some spell? What is it that you are hiding that you can't reveal unless I free you? I've been forgiving thus far, but don't assume that it is always so. I have cut people down for far less than what you are guilty of now, wizard. Damn, woman! By the Goddess herself, I should have run you through the moment I saw you. Wizards are not to be trusted."

"Please, I beg of you. It will be worth your while. No treachery will come from me, on that you have my word."

"Psh, word of a wizard," he said dismissively, but by now curiosity had thoroughly eaten away at his resolve. Warily he stood up and walked behind the kneeling woman. With a flick of his wrist, his sword easily sliced through the tough rope binding her wrists, leaving it up to Alicia to unravel the rest from her fingers. To illustrate a point, the cold sword then found itself once again at her throat, lifting her chin ever so gently up. "Even a single hint of spell casting and I will show you that I am a man of
my
word."

With
her emphatic nod as assurance, he withdrew the sword and sat himself down on the pillow, scooting forward a bit with the sword pointedly unsheathed on his lap. He stared at her expectantly. She flexed her fingers, willing the blood to once again flow through them, working out the stiffness that had settled in the joints, before matching his stare.

"What I have to offer," Alicia said with just a slight waver in her voice,
"is me."

Chapter 16

T
he bandit camp was surprisingly clean and organized. Everything was in its place with almost a military-esque level of precision and care. Deerskin tents, cured white to softly glow in the late afternoon sun, flapped lazily in the breeze, while spits turned slowly above low burning campfires. The worst part about this whole surreal situation was that the occupants almost seemed like people to Marcius; milling about, chatting, laughing, and generally just relaxing.

It was hard to believe earlier in the day these very people had tried to kill him. Sure they still fixed him with pointed stares as he was led forcibly toward a large pole situated the middle of the camp.

Gazes mixed with uncertainty and a very healthy dose of suspicion, simply for the fact that he was a wizard, or at least an apprentice. Not that they knew the difference. But it was just so hard to hate them, for without their masks, without those wicked blades, they looked like normal everyday people. They
were
normal, everyday people.

Marcius blamed the bump on his head for that train of thought. It was too strange a notion, considering the circumstances.

He allowed himself to be led to a pole by the oggron, putting up no resistance as the strong rope was wrapped about him, securing him in place. The ropes dug into his arms, and the gag made his lips dry, unable as he was to lick them. Then he was forced to watch the grey skinned oggron lash Jared to a matching pole, in similar fashion as he was. Jared and Marcius locked eyes, both in that moment emphatically understanding what the other was going through.

Marcius's head still spun and his thoughts were scattered, unable to hold on a single subject for any extended period of time. It was like attempting to
catch water in a net and sitting on the cold ground did little to remedy it. His ears rang as a creeping lethargy spread throughout his body.

The hours ticked away in an agonizingly slow fashion. Somehow, Jared had managed to fall asleep and Marcius's wi
ts slowly returned, but unlike his friend, no sleep found him. How could that blonde idiot sleep when they were in a camp with bandits, not knowing if they would be killed tomorrow?

Marcius?

Faerril?! Where were you? Are you okay?
Marcius felt guilty. With everything that had happened, he had forgotten about his tiny other half. Despite everything, he felt his confidences soar, emboldened by simply hearing the comforting voice in his head.

I could say the same to you, Marc. Your mi
nd was like scattered birds, and we were cut off from each other. I can gnaw through the rope, you know. I'm right at the edge of the forest, about. . .
and Faerril paused, and Marcius felt a bit of confusion from the wyvrr,
I'm not sure about measurement, but I am to your right. Should I help?

What? Why? Do you not see the huge hulking idiot watching us? Anyway, your invisibility will drop the moment you try anything.
It was true. Due to some arcane law, invisibility lasted only as long as one remained an impassive observer. Offensive action seemed to interfere with such a spell, causing it to fail.

Marcius glanced up at oggron, who was barely more than an
arm's length away, sharpening his sword with methodical patience. The orange of the nearby firelight illuminated the one side of the rough gray face, the forceful jaw sternly set as it concentrated on the task at hand.

Where is Alicia? Perhaps we can work together with her familiar? We can't stay here, Marc! They will kill you, and I can't allow that!

She's back in the tent, trying, I think, to barter for our lives. Just stay put, for now. We don't have any choice but to trust in her, these guys know what they are doing, and they are all looking out for you, Faerril, and I don't know what I would do if I lost you.

Instantly he felt a surge of emotion, no doubt from the wyvrr. It was a mixture of thankfulness, pride, and
. . . love? It came as a whirlwind, throwing itself strongly in his face then ebbing away slowly, like a tide. His breath was lost somewhere in between. Then a silence that seems to stretch on forever with a sense of strangeness, but it was a comfortable awkwardness, one that Marcius now basked in.

Finally, the wyvrr found its words.
Thanks, Marc. I. . . feel the same. I will wait. . . for now. But if it looks like you might die, I will intervene.
The determination he felt from the tiny creature, a strong sense of purpose, was something foreign to Marcius.

Intervene? No offense, I am flattered, but what could you do?

Nothing but silence.

Faer
ril?

Long moments passed. Still nothing. It was obvious that the conversation was now over. Had he offended the tiny creature? He worried it might be so. Marcius felt alone and so small right now. Some great wizard he was. He wished he could be as brave as
Jared and Alicia.

Please, please, Alicia,
he pleaded silently into the still night,
pull through for us.

He didn't want to die.

❧
　❧　❧

"You'll what?" The bandit lord's face twisted in a confused grimace.

Alicia didn't kn
ow whether to be offended or relieved. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her entire body was shaking uncontrollably. It was a trial to keep it under wraps. "I said the barter I offer is myself."

Aly
. . . you don't want to do this. I KNOW you don't want to do this!

Alicia imagined that she must have worn a grimace on her face right now, because she wore one internally. Last thing she needed was Karhol wearing away her resolve, what little of it she managed to work up.
Karhol, do you have a better option? It's the only way out that I can see. This guy doesn't like wizards, that much is obvious.

But
—

No 'buts', Karhol. I do what needs to be done. If this is the only option, then so be it. You know that. Hell, you are a part of me. You should know that! Th
e only chance we have is to appeal to the basic side of him, one not concerned with titles and professions. If he can see me as a woman and not as a wizard. . . well he IS a man.

Aly
. . .
the familiar's cry was faint, and tugged on her heartstrings, but no further argument came from the raven.

"What makes you think I
want
a wizard?" the man's question forcibly grasped Alicia back into reality. "Especially since, even if you are right, I could just make you to have me? I do hold all the power right now."

Ali
cia drew in a ragged breath, this was the part she had been expecting, but she didn't know if she had the courage to answer it. It was a shot in the dark, at best. But there must have been something beyond his tough exterior, because he was listening, instead of the myriad of other options he held, such as killing her.

She had to pick her words carefully, with just the right mixture of truth and ego padding. "I don't think you are that type of man."

That seemed to catch the bandit lord's attention. His eyebrow rose and his voice was insistent, though the expression guarded. "And what sort of man do you think I am? Do I look like one that would take advantage of a woman?"

Alicia shook her head. "No one is being taken advantage of. It is a simple deal. One ni
ght in exchange for our freedom. You can keep the spoils of this encounter and the fact that you had me would allow you to save face with your men. All I ask is that you allow us to walk. We won't pursue vengeance, in reality we just want to reach the Academy."

The man rubbed his chin, seemingly deep in thought, though he continued to stare at her with those cold blue eyes as if sizing her up.

The waiting was just the worst part. If his answer was positive, she would have to bed him, something she promised she would never do for self gain. Not again. Yet here she was doing it. And if the answer was negative, well then she would probably be dead come the morning.

"You didn't answer my question. What type of man
do you think I am?" he said softly, breaking Alicia from her trance. He was barely an arm's length from her, and she could hear his steady breathing,
feel
his indomitable presence.

She swallowed realizing just how barely she was skirting the precipice of
disaster. She silently admitted that he was handsome, in a rugged manly sort of way, but this still wasn't something she was looking forward to.

Hurriedly her mind raced. What to say?

Finally she decided on the truth as the best course of action. "Type of man you are?" The bandit lord had to lean forward a bit to catch her words. "A lonely one."

He just kept staring at her with those terrible eyes! If it wasn't for the sharp intake of breath, Alicia would have thought that perhaps the man had not heard he
r proclamation. But he had, he most certainly had, and the fact so far nothing had come of it was somehow worse than if he had went on a livid warpath. Alicia had to force herself to stare back, to not betray the twisting knots within the pits of her stomach.

After what seemed an eternity, the man lifted his hand, with a speed somewhere between fast and careful he brought it up to her face. Alicia counted her blessings that she had not flinched in surprise. Slowly
his fingers traced a trail from the side of her cheek to the bottom of her chin, the rough calluses on the finger tips sending goose bumps all over her body.

His hand flashed out and gripped the nape of her neck hard, intertwining between the soft bronze
locks, forcing her forward into a rough kiss. His lips were strong, yet surprisingly soft and yielding, but nonetheless burned with purpose. He was searching for something, something he intended to find from her. It was totally unexpected and only the trepidation she felt kept her from gasping from alarm.

It started off rough, but there was an intense question behind it. She had never been kissed like this, but the context of why it was being delivered kept her from enjoying it. "Gregory," he whispered whe
n at last their lips parted, mostly for breath than anything else.

"Wha
. . . ?" her world was swirling and it was all she could manage to speak while holding onto him. Somehow her hands had entwined themselves in the rough leather of his armor, and she found herself staring into his face, and even more terribly, his eyes.

"I accept your bargain, and I would have you know the name you will be crying out tonight." With that promise and a feral grin, he kissed her again as his one hand went up to undo her shir
t and the other smothered the flame dancing from the lamp, bathing the tent in darkness.

❧　❧　❧

It was the crisp morning dew that woke Jared up. The feeling of bone-chilling dampness penetrated along the edges of his pants, and made them stick uncomfortably to his skin. He opened his eyes and then immediately wished he hadn't, because a sharp throbbing pain erupted behind his temples, sending starbursts of light to flash on the edges of his vision.

Every muscle in his body felt exactly as one would expect
from a night of sleeping on cold damp ground while being tied to a hard wooden pole. The gag dug into the corners of his mouth, and a disgusting crust of dried saliva caused his lips to crack painfully when he tried to work his tongue around the cloth to wet them.

In other words, he felt terrible.

It took him a couple of minutes to get his bearings, but eventually the sharp throbbing in his head subsided into a manageable steady drone and he was able to concentrate on other matters which required his attention. Like the complete loss of feeling in his hands. Jared tried every conceivable way to loosen the bindings, to get circulation into his fingertips. He wiggled this way, he tugged that way, and he struggled all around, but none of it worked.

The oggron
had been diligent in his duties and there was no way Jarrod could even fathom getting free. The best he could manage was to shift the distribution of weight to where it wasn't, relieving at least some of the strain on his hands and midsection. Inwardly, Jared took a weird sense of satisfaction that he had managed to fall asleep last night despite everything that had happened, but it still didn't change the fact that he was stuck in this uncomfortable position.